


A Place To Rest

by deepestfathoms



Category: Carrie - Stephen King, Carrie the Musical - Fandom
Genre: American Sign Language, Broadway Kids Universe, Brother-Sister Relationships, Carrie is a freshman, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Muteness, Selectively Mute Carrie White, Sleep Deprivation, Sue and Tommy are seniors, Sue is the Mom Friend, Tommy is a good big bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24904735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: Carrie was broken in ways Tommy couldn’t even begin to imagine, and he was determined to piece her back together.[Broadway Kids Carrie!!!!]
Relationships: Carrie White & Tommy Ross, Susan Snell & Carrie White, Tommy Ross/Sue Snell
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	A Place To Rest

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know, I'm referring to this production: https://youtu.be/uUX4M3gRWdg

She is shaking.

At least she thinks she's shaking. What difference will shaking make? It won't change anything.

It doesn't matter that her knees are wobbling, it doesn't matter that she is losing her ground, it doesn't matter that she is on the floor holding her head in her hands, now, entire body shaking as she struggles to see through blurry eyes and breathe through rapidly closing lungs. None of it does, did, or ever will matter.

She doesn't even know what’s going on around her now. She can't tell, everything is blurring together and she feels like she's dying, she's finally dying and she's going to accept it, she wants to accept it, she wants to die, there's nothing else left for her here and there never will be, but She won't let her die-- She made her and She’s going to keep her in this godforsaken world as long as She wants because it’s a blessing she’s a blessing even though She hates her even though she’s cursed and cancerous and a devil’s child--

The bile itching in her throat causes her to make a disgusting sound and she continues to lose herself despite it. She is sobbing and shaking violently and she does not know where or who she is anymore and it burns, her skin burns, _Mama stop it BURNS--_

Tommy is standing near, watching the scene unfold, and does not understand, he cannot understand. He does not and cannot and will not ever understand, but that will not stop him and it never has before. He hasn’t seen this happen before, not like this, not so suddenly and out of nowhere, but he knew what he had to do.

He races over to her and wraps himself around her frail body, feeling her try to curl into herself, feeling her try to push herself away to writhe on the tile alone, but he does not let her, he will not let her. He's new to this whole “big brother” thing, like how she’s new to the “little sister” thing (and being cared for) but he will not allow Carrie to go through this by herself. He does not understand, but he continues on with what he feels is right, and he does not want her to push him away.

She stops struggling and cries into him. His chin resting at the top of her head as he holds her into his chest. Whispers to her to breathe with him, _one...two...three-- come on, you're doing great, Carrie-- just like we’ve been practicing-- one...two..three…_

Her brain stops and blanks out, and she’s scared-- _Are people watching? Where are they in the school? Are they still in school?_ \--so scared, but Tommy is a sunny island in a raging sea of dark thoughts and she clung to him as she was drowning in the pitch black tide.

She tries to go along with the breathing pattern he had set for her with wet eyes and sweaty hands and slowly tries to wrap her weak arms around him as well.

She desperately wants to say thank you, so she does so in a quiet, shaking whisper (her hands are too sweaty and she can’t seem to remember how to even sign at the moment). He tells her that it's alright in a voice matching hers.

\------

She is shaking.

_Was_ shaking.

Tommy watched her shake, felt her shake, and held her while she shaked. He held her like his arms were the only things holding her together, and he’s starting to believe they very well may have been because this has happened more than once before.

Carrie was broken in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine, and he was determined to piece her back together.

He met her outside her final period class, a mythology elective (because she was a gosh dang nerd), and she looked surprised to see him standing there, smiling (she had begged Principal Morton to not call her mom and be sent home after her little episode in the hallway). She blinked at him, then looked back into the empty classroom like she was expecting one of his friends to materialize inside. Tommy laughed.

“I’m here for you, silly.” He said. “Come on.”

Carrie hesitated, wry for his sake. She took a tiny step backwards, white-knuckling the black straps of her plain red backpack, like she thought she could disappear into the painted mural of a parthenon on the back wall of the classroom (she had once told him that’s one of the reasons why she enjoyed the class so much- she liked to sometimes doze off and pretend she was in Greece, amongst powerful gods and mythical creatures. she had said she wanted a pet griffon.)

“Carrie,” Tommy scolded her patiently. “Come on. It’s okay, I promise.”

She hesitated again, then nodded and stepped out. She walked down the hall beside him with her shoulders hunched in, eyes to the ground. She was so on edge, so Tommy just decided to drop the bomb on the plans he had for the two of them before she could possibly get any worse (because he doubted she would get better).

“You’re probably wondering why you’re getting such a grand escort,” Tommy said. Carrie glanced up at him with a small nod. “Well, you see, since you agreed to be my partner in that project for Mr. Stephens’s class, I thought it would be a good idea to work on it at my house!”

Carrie froze mid-step.

_“Tommy--”_

A smile twitched onto Tommy’s lips. He always grinned like a dopey idiot when Carrie used his sign name. It was a descriptive name instead of an arbitrary one; the letter T at the right side of the face to give his initial and show that he had dimples, a characteristic that Carrie thought fit him the most (although she had REALLY wanted to do a sign name that would include his trademark letterman jacket, but though that making a jacket motion with the letter T would look silly). And those dimples quickly became a noteworthy feature on him because they always appeared when the sign name was used. But then they started to fade when Carrie continued to sign to him.

_“--you know I can’t. My mother--”_

“Tell her it’s for school.” Tommy said hurriedly, cutting her off. “It’s not a lie!”

_“But she’ll get mad if she finds out I’m with a boy…”_

“Then don’t tell her. Say it was mandatory or something. Say I’m a girl! Named...uhh...what’s the female version of Tommy? Oh! Tonia!”

That got a tiny smile out of Carrie. _“I think that’s the girl version of T-O-N-Y.”_

“Eh, close enough,” Tommy said. “So. Will you?”

Carrie looked up at him, fingers twitching with half-formed signs, then replied, _“Okay.”_

“Yes!!” Tommy cheered. A kid staying for after-school tutoring in a nearby classroom looked up from his desk and blinked at them from the open door. “Awesome! You’re the best, Caz!”

Carrie smiled wryly. _“I try.”_

The two of them walk out to the furthest parking lot, down near the Ag building and barns, which was named “Africa” by the students and teachers alike because it was so far away (nobody really knew who started calling it such a thing, it’s had that name before Tommy even got into high school, but it just stuck). It was quite the trek, which was particularly rough when raining or cold out, but it beat the front parking lot, which was creatively named “Suicide” because it was “hell to get out of” (there were seven parking lots in total: Suicide, the front one for everyone to use and is always packed; Africa, student and sports parking; Madagascar, a long stretch of lot on the side of the pig barn; Turkey, Ag barn parking; Senior Hill, senior only parking; The Den, teacher parking; and No-Man’s Land, a small, overgrown parking lot near the abandoned campus portables, which nobody really parked in because it was all gravel and pretty creepy). They climbed into Tommy’s black Jeep he had named Bessie when he got it. Carrie always thought it was weird that he named it.

“Sue named her car, too!” He had argued.

“What’s its name?” She had asked.

“Guinevere.” He had answered.

“That’s a girl's name.”

“You usually give cars girl names, Caz.”

“Oh.”

Tommy started the engine and began to pull out. Carrie was fidgeting in the passenger’s seat, eyes locked on an Ag student walking a fat white goat with a red-brown head and floppy ears around a carousel-like contraption. She worried her hands in her sleeves, then in the straps of her overalls, and then in the hem of her shirt. She looked as though she would explode if Tommy were to so much as jokingly brake check the car.

“Not even Sue was this nervous to meet my folks,” Tommy tried to joke, noticing her anxiety and hoping to help her relax a little.

_“Were you nervous?”_ Carrie asked instead of commenting on the statement about her being nervous.

“Oh, absolutely,” Tommy admitted openly. “So don’t be embarrassed if you’re shy, okay? My parents won’t give you the ‘hurt my child and I’ll kill you’ talk like I got from Sue’s dad.”

Carrie nodded and rested her hands into her lap, watching the town flash by through the windshield. She usually didn’t sign when Tommy was driving so as to not distract him, which he appreciated, but he also sort of wished she would talk to him so there wouldn’t just be these awkward gaps of silence. But at least this gave him some time to quietly observe her--which, in a way, distracted him as much as Carrie signing to him would because he kept glancing over at her.

What made her break earlier today? What happened? What was wrong?

She was looking out the window, now, so her thick brown curls were facing him. Even in the dark, stringy abyss that was her hair, he could still make out knots and tangles and a slight sheen of oil that stated she hasn’t washed it in a day or so. Then, she cocked her head slightly and a few locks shifted, revealing her tanned shoulder and neck underneath. There, he could see patches of skin much redder than the rest. There were four in total, two on her shoulder, one on the side of her neck, and one right behind her left ear, and were about the size of a dime. They were edged with ignited crimson flesh that had maws like a frozen lake of murky grease. Crags of crusted brown flesh encircled a few of the marks and-- had they been there yesterday?

Carrie turned her head and Tommy didn't look away fast enough- his gaze lingered for just a bit too long and she noticed him staring. But she didn’t say anything. Just nonchalantly swept her hair back over her shoulders until it covered up the marks again and stole a piece of mint gum from the packet in the cup holder.

Tommy doesn’t look at her for the remainder of the drive.

\--

Cheery yellow marigolds and pink daffodils and purple geraniums are sprouted around the side of the grey house with healthy, well-watered grass blanketed out across the front yards. Three large oak trees, encaged in a circle of wood chips cast large shadows over the ground. Stones in various shades of brown are set into the edges of the sidewalk and stoop, and they clink against each other when Carrie’s foot accidentally slipped into the rockbed. She leapt back and looked as though they were actually the last eggs of an extinct species of bird and she had just squashed them, ruining any chance of resurgence in the population. But they weren’t eggs, they were just rocks, and Tommy reminded her of this gently, also mentioning that he stepped on them all the time. It doesn’t really make her feel any better because “he lived there” so he was “allowed to stomp on whatever he wanted”, while she was “a guest” and shouldn’t “go around ruining everything”. Tommy realized that he wasn’t going to win this particular argument, so he let it go and stepped inside.

“I’m home!” He called into the house. 

He walked through the front room and into the living room. His mother turned from where she was preparing dinner in the kitchen and smiled at both him and Carrie.

“Hello, sweetie,” She called back. “How was school?” She stepped away from the stove, washed her hands, then walked over to formally greet her son and the new guest.

“It was good.” Tommy said, putting his backpack on the back of one of the dining table chairs, then motioned for Carrie to do the same. “Mom, this is Carrie. Carrie, this is my mom.”

“Hello, dear,” His mother said kindly.

Carrie gave a polite smile and wave. Her hands were still fidgeting with her sleeve and Tommy couldn’t tell if she was still chewing the piece of gum she had taken from his car or if she had swallowed it. Her eyes were darting around everywhere, and not just to examine his house. She was looking for something very specific.

“Oh!” Tommy’s mother raised her hands and began to form gestures with them. _“How are you?”_

Carrie’s eyes went wide- like, so-wide-Tommy-worried-they-may-just-pop-out-of-her-sockets kind of wide. Her head whipped from the woman before her, then to Tommy, and then back to the woman, and she began to jitter happily. She soon got the most wonderful expression of bliss, anxiety, and triumph that Tommy had ever seen.

_“You can SIGN?”_ She exclaimed.

Tommy’s mother laughed. _“I took classes in college. Who do you think taught Tommy outside of school?”_

_“Tommy you didn’t tell me your mom could SIGN!!”_ Carrie exclaimed again, but this time to Tommy. She had a broad smile absolutely glowing on her face and was shaking Tommy’s arm, as if this was the most delightful thing that has ever happened to her (which was a little RUDE because meeting Tommy should have been in that spot!!).

_“Surprise!”_ Tommy beamed at her.

_“Tommy!!!!”_ Carrie released one hand from shaking Tommy to sign his sign name. _“This is so cool!!!!”_

_“More comfortable, I hope?”_ Tommy said.

_“A little,”_ Carrie said. She let go of Tommy and smiled up at him bashfully. 

“Good.” Tommy said, this time audibly. “Come on, let’s go upstairs and start to work!”

They excused themselves and walked up the staircase to Tommy’s room, which was decked out in as much sport’s decorations as Carrie was expecting by the big teasing grin on her face.

“Not a peep.” Tommy warned.

_“Good thing I’m mute.”_ Carrie replied. She looked around the room. _“This is the first time I’ve been to a friend’s house. I don’t know why I expected it to be like mine.”_

Tommy wasn’t surprised with that first comment. “What’s your room like?” He asked.

_“Dull,”_ Carrie signed, and stuck her tongue out a little in distaste to enunciate the horribleness of her own bedroom. _“Empty. Boring. I don’t even have pillows anymore.”_

Tommy did a double take. “Wait- are you serious?”

_“I’m not allowed to lie,”_ Carrie said, then sighed. _“Completely serious.”_

“Are pillows, like, against Christianity or something?” Tommy said. “I don’t remember that in the Bible. Although I’ve never read it, so…”

Carrie giggled. _“You goof.”_ She said. _“But no, it has nothing to do with religion. My mom just doesn’t trust me very much.”_

“What does she think you’ll hide under there? Some playboys?” Tommy laughed.

Carrie blinked at him in innocent curiosity. _“What are those?”_

Tommy stopped laughing. He cleared his throat a bit too awkwardly. “Nothing, Caz, don’t worry about it,” He ruffled the top of her hair and then glided past her over to his desk. He pulled out a dark blue pen and a mostly-blank notebook from one of the drawers. “So, what do you think our story should be about?”

_“Why does everyone think they can keep hiding things from me?”_ Carrie pressed on instead of giving him any ideas. _“What is it? P-L-A-Y-B-O-Y-S.”_ She had to fingerspell it, which meant she didn’t know the sign for it, if it even had one, and that meant she really didn’t know what it was. 

“You’re too little.” Tommy said.

_“I’m not little!!”_ Carrie cried, and the rapid, furious formations of her hands practically equated to her yelling with her voice. As if to prove her point, she stood up straight, puffed out her chest, lifted her head regally, and looked about as grown up as a newborn sugar glider.

“See? Little.” Tommy grinned at her and she pouted. He patted her head again, then sat down on his bed. “Now, back to the project.”

_“I’ll find out what it is later myself…”_ Carrie signed grumpily to herself.

“Caz, honey? I can see you signing.” Tommy said. “Maybe don’t sign-mumble around someone who knows ASL.”

Carrie stuck her tongue out at him, then plopped herself down beside him on the bed. She peered down at the notebook he was holding and then up at him. _“What do YOU think it should be about?”_

“I asked you first,” Tommy said, poking her in the stomach with his pen. She squirmed away with a giggle.

_“Well--”_ Carrie fumbled, clearly shy. _“I don’t know--”_

“Spit it out.” Tommy encouraged.

_“I’m mute.”_ Carrie signed again, like earlier, but this time it was her turn to poke him with a finger that had its nail chewed down to the painful quick.

“Sign it out.” Tommy corrected. “Come on. I know you got some good ideas in that head of yours.”

She really did. Tommy remembered how Mr. Stephens once had them draw three cards with emojis on them out of a bucket and write a story with aspects of each one. Sue had gotten a file, a girl, and a heart with an arrow through it, so she threw together a cheesy, but cute story about Cupid putting the main character’s love letter into a file that belonged to the love interest, which ended up getting them together. Chris got a globe, nails being painted, and a van, and her story ended up being Gordon Ramsy travelling around the world brutally judging and shaming nail salons on how they paint nails. He, personally, had gotten a rain cloud, a hand, and a blue heart, and after fumbling for a short while, he managed to put together a story about two star-crossed lovers coming together at a heart-shaped pond during a rainstorm, which definitely had hand holding somewhere in there. Not his best work in his opinion. But Carrie had gotten a sound effect symbol, a key, and a chair, and the outcome was a story about a man being held hostage in a room filled with high frequency, ear-splitting noises that would eventually cause all his organs to implode unless he unlocked himself and hit the off button...but the key was surgically embedded in one of his ears, which he had to scratch out and yank on to get out. It was chillingly well-written and had so much detail that Tommy and Mr. Stephens alike momentarily worried that she had gone through some type of ear trauma to the same degree. But she had merely laughed when this concern was brought up.

“Well?”

_“What if we did horror?”_

“Horror?”

_“Yeah!”_ Carrie was unraveling from her shell a little bit more, letting her ideas fall from her fingers as she formed the story in her hands. _“Like-- what if it was about this person who usually works a shift that has them away from home a lot of the time when everyone else is. The night shift, I think? Sorry, I don’t know jobs. Anyway, their shift gets changed to the day shift and they stop being nocturnal. The next morning after this change, they see their neighbor smiling at them from the front porch when they step out to get the mail. They think nothing of it, but then it keeps happening. The neighbor is always smiling from the porch. And then it’s revealed that the actual neighbor is a woman and she was murdered and her body is rotting in the house and the smiling guy was the killer and the protagonist didn’t know that because they were always working the night shift and never met their neighbors!!”_ She finished with a radiant smile and expectant eyes. Her expression practically screamed, _Praise me! Praise me! Tell me how smart I am! How creative I am! How good I am! Please, please do it!_

“Aren’t you a little Edgar Allen Poe in training?” Tommy teased, ruffling her hair. “That’s an awesome idea!”

Carrie blushed, shy again. _“Really? You wouldn’t mind if we did it?”_

“Not at all!” Tommy said. “Let’s do it!”

And so, they began to storyboard and then draft, bouncing dialogue options off of each other and taking turns writing, their drastically different penmanship (Tommy’s was surprisingly more curved and pristine, while Carrie’s was blocky and had sharp edges like ancient text in a prehistoric scroll) a glistening, inky contrast on the pages.

It was currently Carrie’s turn to write and she was fervently scrawling intense detail about the false-neighbor’s impossibly wide smile on the page. Tommy studied her, watching her wordlessly murmur back the things she wrote to herself before continuing on quickly like she thought she had a time limit on what she was allowed to write in one day. She was very focused, but at least calmer than she was earlier. Still, the curiosity was eating away at Tommy- he desperately wanted to know what had set her off at school.

“Can I brush your hair?”

Carrie looked up in an instant and instinctively touched her hair. The natural brown curls were coiled awkwardly at the tips, individual strands sticking out in places, and it had lost its softness, suggesting that it was in desperate need of a good washing and brushing. She blushed slightly, thinking that Tommy must have thought it was gross or messy.

“I do it all the time for Sue, believe it or not,” Tommy went on, trying to seem harmless in his request, which he was, but Carrie had more walls up than anyone he had ever met before. He just wanted to help her relax a little more, and maybe even open up to him because Sue liked to share things when she got her hair brushed. Carrie may, too.

Carrie hesitated longer. Truthfully, she trusted Tommy, she really did, perhaps more than she ever trusted anyone, aside from Miss Gardener- not that there was much competition in that regard, granted. Tommy, she knew, she /hoped/, was a good guy. Even before they became friends, he had never done anything to hurt her or betray her trust, instead just staying out of the bullying or even sometimes dispersing it and unknowingly saving her in some cases. That trustworthiness and safety he provided, constantly, was undeniable and reassuring. She appreciated it greatly.

But on the other hand, she had never felt comfortable letting people touch her. Okay, well, that was a lie. She was extremely touch starved. She was more wary of new touch, because, in her experience, it could only bring pain in the long run. Letting people get close, generally, was something she avoided on an instinctual level, not that anyone ever really tried to get close to her before freshman year. Pushing everyone away had become her brand. Only recently did she start breaking that habit, letting Tommy work her out of her shell, but it was still a long, slow process. Becoming friends with him, despite everyone he’s close to at school, was not a choice that came easily, and perhaps, in hindsight, it was made too quickly for her comfort. There was no going back now, though. Maybe in an odd way, that was what she needed. An environment that made getting close to someone a must.

Glancing at Tommy with a thoughtful look, she fiddled with one of her curls, which felt stringy and rough when she wrapped it around her finger. If there was a person she could trust with it, it would surely have to be Tommy. The choice was obvious.

_“Sure,”_ She signed to him. She wrinkled her nose at his goofy smile. _“You jellyfish.”_

“Ow! I’m hurt!” Tommy cried dramatically. “Me? A jellyfish? How could you say such a thing?!”

Carrie giggled. 

“I’m going to go grab a brush.”

Tommy whisked out of the bedroom, but returned moments later with a blue brush in his hands. It was worlds away from Carrie’s wooden, black-bristled one.

Tommy sat back down on the bed and Carrie turned her back to him, letting him have full view of her dark brown mane. Closing her eyes, Carrie took a deep breath. Why was she so nervous? This wasn't anything she should have been nervous over and yet...it felt almost like a test of trust for them. A trust fall that could make or break all her progress with Tommy.

“I’m going to start now, okay?” Tommy told her. She appreciated the hesitation and patience more than she’d ever like to admit.

_“Go ahead,”_ She signed, straightening her back. _“Be gentle, please? I know my hair may be a bit knotty right now, but try not to pull…”_

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” Tommy assured her. After a moment, he started running his fingers through Carrie’s hair, slowly and gently. It was smart, he congratulated himself for. It was going to be easier to find and get rid of any knots this way.

Carrie was starting to relax; he could feel the muscles in her upper back lose some tension and her shoulder blades stopped being stiff, featherless wings poised beneath her skin. So far, she wasn't getting hurt, and the touch was surprisingly pleasant. Tommy really did know what he was doing.

_“You do this with Sue?”_

Tommy had to peek over her shoulder to see the signs, but managed to make out what she said without asking her to repeat herself. “Yup!” He confirmed proudly. “I’m really good at it too, huh? I am an expert at all the styles! The cheerleaders and dance team should higher me to french braid their hair.”

Carrie giggled at that mental image. And then--

“Ow!!”

Tommy froze. He had accidentally pulled on a knot too hard and Carrie shouted, verbally shouted, and recoiled in pain. He pulled his hands back instantly as she leaned forward, breathing heavily in a way that suggested that the hair pulling had given her more than just a shock of discomfort. Her eyes wide open from astonishment, her hands shaking.

It’s been a while since anybody pulled her hair, but she remembered the pain and humiliation clearly. After all, it was a constant for most of her life, and was far from the worst thing she had experienced, but even so, it was not pleasant to be reminded of that.

“Caz? Carrie? Are you okay?” Tommy asked, worry thick in his voice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you alright?”

Carrie took a deep breath and leaned back slowly. She nodded. 

_“Yes,”_ She signed with hands that were still shaking slightly. _“I’m okay.”_

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said guilty.

_“It’s okay,”_ She signed. _“It happens sometimes.”_ She wasn’t as relaxed as she was at the start, but pulled herself together pretty well regardless. After a short moment of hesitation, she felt the brush on her hair again, gently stroking down. Slowly and carefully at first, growing more steady overtime as her hair was getting smoother.

“Caz?”

“Hmm?” Carrie hummed. Her eyes were closed in contentment. Wonderful tingles and sparks were crackling through her scalp with every stroke of the brush. She had forgotten how nice it felt to get her hair played with. She could fall asleep to this feeling…

“What happened earlier today? At school?” There’s worry in Tommy’s voice. The topic alarmed Carrie, and she tried to shake herself back into awareness, but her hair being brushed just felt so nice…

_“Nothing,”_ She signed with lazy flicks of her hands. _“Just something dumb that happened with my mom. It was on my mind for a while. And then I heard something that reminded me of it and I just kind--snapped--I guess.”_

Tommy frowned. At the same moment as she said that, he swept her hair to the side and saw those marks again. Up close, he could make out that they were definitely scabs of some sorts. He thought they may be burns by the pale, pus-like glaze over the expanse of each blemish. Burns from a cooking class at school, maybe? The grease they use did sometimes fly. But the marks looked way too big to be grease burns and Carrie didn’t have any cooking electives. So what were they? What had happened to her?

_Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask. Ask. Don’t ask._

This replayed in Tommy’s head over and over again as he combed Carrie’s hair into one big mass in his left hand. He set the brush aside and began to part the hair into three portions, feeling Carrie lurch slightly.

“Shh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” Tommy shushed her gently.

Carrie relaxed again. He even felt her lean her head back into his hands and breathe out the softest sign of contentment.

With a wrench of his heart, he wondered when the last time she was ever treated with such gentleness was.

“Do you…” Tommy exhales, unsure if his next words are going to be the right ones. The curiosity is killing him. “Do you, I don’t know, wanna talk about it? It’s cool if you don’t, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.” He dragged his fingers through one of the three groups of hair. “I know it helps for some people, getting everything out. Sue will, like, make these bracelets with beads that have letters on them and she’ll spell out what’s bothering her. Then she will cut it up or burn it or do something and that’s how she’ll get over, or at least cope, with something. If that makes sense.”

_“No, no, it does.”_ Carrie signed. _“That’s really cool, actually. Good for her.”_ Pause. She fumbled with her hands. _“I just-- I don’t think talking is gonna help right now. I’m already thinking about things too much. Don’t really want to fuel the fire.”_ Another pause. _“Sorry.”_

“No, it’s okay!” Tommy said hurriedly. “I understand!”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie is leaning into his hands again and making tiny cooing noises.

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” He chuckled.

“Mhm…” Carrie nodded sleepily. He wondered how well she slept at night, especially without a pillow.

“You are very endearing when you are half-asleep,” Tommy said.

That seemed to jar Carrie slightly.

“Mmm--” She tried to sit up and shake herself awake, but it was obvious she was quite tired. Her breakdown at school probably took a lot out of her, and then to continue school activities afterward-- Tommy would be exhausted if he were her. And it seemed that she really was.

“No, hey--” Tommy grabbed her shoulder, but let go instantly when she flinched. “It’s okay, Caz. You can take a nap if you want.”

Carrie blushed. _“N-no, that’s-- That’ll be weird. I can’t.”_

“You can.”

_“No, I can’t.”_

“Yes, you can.”

_“No.”_

“When did you last sleep?” 

It took Carrie by surprise. Tommy finished the loose braid and she turned to him quickly after, blinking tired eyes at him. She definitely didn’t get a good rest last night, if she got any at all.

He wondered if it was from the strange marks on her neck and shoulder.

_“A day ago?”_ Carrie admitted.

“Carrie…” Tommy sighed. “That’s not good for you, you know. You need sleep.”

_“I know,”_ Carrie ruffled. _“I just--”_ Her fluttering hands snapped into tightly clenched fists when the sound of the doorbell resonated through the house. Tommy looked up and could faintly hear his mom greeting someone, then footsteps ascending the staircase.

“This conversation isn’t over.” He told Carrie sternly, then got up to go into the hallway and see who it was coming up. “Oh! Sue!”

After the initial greetings and a kiss hello, the couple walked back into Tommy’s bedroom. Sue seemed surprised to see Carrie sitting on the bed.

“Oh, Carrie,” She said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

_“Hi, Sue,”_ Carrie signed. Her eyes are half lidded, now, and even the simple signing of a greeting is sloppy.

“We were working on the project for Mr. Stephens,” Tommy informed his girlfriend.

“Ah,” Sue nodded. She peered at Carrie, who had her head slouched ever so slightly. “You look tired.”

“She hasn’t slept for a day,” Tommy told her worriedly.

_“I don’t need sleep.”_ Carrie declared stubbornly. She has her head lifted and eyes open completely, but it seemed uncomfortable for her to do so.

“I can’t understand you,” Sue said, “but from that look you have I’m assuming you think you could stay awake forever if you wanted to.” She tilted her head at Carrie with a warm smile. “It doesn’t work like that, you know. You need sleep, sweetie.”

_That_ made Carrie falter. Her jaw fell open and she blinked at Sue’s soft expression, then closed her mouth and blushed faintly. She glared grumpily at Tommy.

_“Why is she so nice?”_ She signed angrily.

Tommy laughed and wrapped an arm around Sue’s shoulder. “Because she’s amazing!”

“What?” Sue asked, looking up at him. “What did she say?”

“She asked why you’re so nice,” Tommy told her. “Which is very true. Also you REALLY need to take ASL!”

“I already have my language credits,” Sue said.

“Well, so do I, but I’m still taking the class!”

“I have no room in my schedule.”

“Then get rid of something! You don’t need that medical class, right? You’re already smart!”

Sue laughed. “Yes, but probably not smart enough to-- Oh! Carrie!”

The little freshman was nodding off, tipping off of the bed, and would have smacked her face against the hardwood floor if Sue hadn’t cried out. She jolted backwards, eyes wide with fright, and Tommy immediately went over to her side, quickly followed by Sue.

“Carrie,” Tommy said, “you need to rest. You’re /tired/.”

_“No.”_ Carrie signed stubbornly, although her eyes were barely open. Just a day without sleeping seemed to wring her dry, but, then again, she didn’t exactly have a great metabolism, or much energy to burn with how small she was. It’s no surprise that she got tired so easily, but added with the weight of her breakdown and not being able to properly recover from that because of classes--she must have felt like she’s been awake for weeks.

But there was something else, too. Her avoidance towards rest seemed to be more long-running than her just thinking it was impolite to do so at someone else’s house because she looked up at Tommy, her dull eyes glazed with fatigue and fear, and signed, _“Please, Tommy. Don’t make me sleep.”_

It was heartbreaking. The way she looked at him dug barbed claws into his chest and ripped his heart right out. He couldn’t possibly force her to do something she didn’t want to now, but…

“I’m sorry, Carrie.” He said. “You need to rest.”

He swore he saw betrayal flicker in Carrie’s eyes and the barbed claws tore back into the open wound in his chest. He bit his tongue to keep himself from revoking his statement, which was a struggle because he really, REALLY wanted to now.

Carrie turned her head to Sue, her gaze helpless as she began to sway slightly. Her hands were clenching open and close as if she thought she could claw herself back to wakefulness.

_“Sue,”_ She signed clumsily, desperately. _“Don’t let me sleep. My Mama-- I have to-- prayers-- have to go home-- gonna die-- nightmares--”_

Sue steadied Carrie. The younger girl whimpered, desperation shining in her dark eyes. Sue looked at her with great care.

“It’s going to be okay, Carrie.” She murmured to her. “Just rest. You’re exhausted, sweetie. You deserve to relax. Don’t worry, we’ll get you home.”

The pet name seemed to hit Carrie like a rag of chloroform to her face because she slouched over into her arms a mere second later, asleep--or unconscious. Her chest rose and fell in long, peaceful movements, and her face was as still as the couple had ever seen it. The tortured expression that seemed to be permanently etched into her features since she was a child was gone for now.

“She’s cuddly,” Sue commented with an endeared chuckle. Even in unconsciousness, Carrie still curled into her like a kitten seeking warmth. She stroked her head, running her fingers down the laces of the braid. “Cute, too. Did you ask your mom if you could keep her?” She looked at Tommy with a teasing grin, but it fell when she saw his guilty expression. “Tommy? What’s wrong?”

“Did you see the way she looked at me?” Tommy said. He clenched his hands against his jeans. “She looked like I had _stabbed her._ ” He swallowed thickly. “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”

“Oh, darling,” Sue cooed. “You big sweetheart.” She moved one arm that was holding Carrie to take Tommy’s hand. “She’ll forgive you. I know she will. She looks up to you a lot. I don’t think she would want to lose you.”

Tommy smiled slightly. “You always know what to say.”

“I learn from the best,” Sue winked at him. She looked down when Carrie stirred slightly against her, making a tiny noise before settling. “I never thought i’d be holding my boyfriend’s sleeping pet fish.”

“Hsst.” Tommy jabbed her side. “She’s not my ‘pet fish’.”

“If you say so!” Sue laughed. Her laughter died off, however, when she noticed the marks on Carrie’s neck and shoulder, and her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Oh my…”

“Do you know what those are?” Tommy asked. “I was wondering about that but didn’t want to ask her. I thought that maybe they’re grease stains? I’ve seen that stuff fly before when cooking so they might--”

“Tommy,” Sue breathed out in horror. “These are cigarette burns.”


End file.
